My first experience of democracy-in-being followed swiftly upon boarding
the steamboat for San Francisco, when "Show this man Number 231" was the
American steward's command to a cabin boy. I had no objection to being
called a man: far from it; but after years of being called a gentleman
it was startling. This happened at Yokohama; and when, in the Customs
House at San Francisco, a porter wheeling a truck broke through a queue
of us waiting to obtain our quittances, with the careless warning, "Out
of the way, fellers!" I knew that here was democracy indeed.
I confess to liking it, although I was to be brought up with another
jolt when a notice-board on a grass-plot suddenly confronted me, bearing
the words:--
[Illustration: KEEP OFF. THIS MEANS YOU.]
But I like it. I like the tradition which, once your name is written in
the hotel reception book, makes you instantly "Mr. Lucas" to every one
in the place. There is a friendliness about it: the hotel is more of
a home, or at any rate, less of a barrack, because of it. And yet this
universal camaraderie has some odd lapses into formality. The members of
clubs in America are far more ceremonious with each other than we are
in England. In English clubs the prefix "Mr." is a solecism, but in
American clubs I have watched quite old friends and associates whose
greetings have been marked almost by pomposity and certainly by ritual.
Yet Americans, I should say, are heartier than we; more happy to be with
each other; less critical and exacting. They certainly spend less time
in discussing each other's foibles. That may be because the dollar is so
much more an absorbing theme, but more likely it is because America is a
democracy, and the theory of democracy, as I understand it, is to assume
that every man is a good fellow until the reverse is proved. I should
not like to say that the theory of those of us who live under a monarchy
is the opposite, but it seemed to me that Americans are more ready than
we to be sociable and tolerant.
Try as I might I could never be quick enough to get in first with that
delightful American greeting, "Pleased to meet you," or "Glad to
know you, Mr. Lucas." I pondered long on the best retort and at last
formulated this, but never dared to use it for fear that its genuineness
might be suspected: "I shall be sorry when we have to part."